Into My Arms
by xBlackRabbitx
Summary: Sequel to 'Such a Sad Love, Deep in Your Eyes'. Jareth is determined to make Sarah remember. Contains Matt Preston, poultricide and tight pants. You have been warned.
1. A Plan

This is the sequel to 'Such a Sad Love, Deep in Your Eyes'. If you haven't read it, pop on over, take a squiz, leave a nice, juicy review, then come back here. Otherwise, most of this one won't make much sense.

Yes, I survived the move and return to you with a belated Christmas prsent! I never intended to write a sequel to 'Sad Love' (I wanted to leave you sobbing, wonderful person that I am), but, due to popular demand, here it is. It's funny, contains a little crack, and has a decidedly happy ending, which is a little different for me.

However, it was not without drama that this tale was formed. First of all, I suffered major writer's block trying to come up with a tale that was not tired or cliched. I think I've partially succeeded in this respect. It had to survive origins in maths class, schoolies and an interstate move. On one day at schoolies, I was up before anyone else trying to come up with a decent plot. My plot device was eventually inspired by the novel 'Hush, Hush', by someone or other, though in a weird way that can't really be explained (I do recommend the book; the plot is essentially the same as Twilight, almost exactly, but it's better written and the characters are far more interesting). Then, my computer did something very odd and over half the document turned into little boxes and those letters with the little dashes over them. I stoically moved past this without committing murder or computicide, and eventually managed to finish it off without any more dramas. Then, all I had to do was wait a little over two months for the internet to be hooked up. This was a highly arduous experience.

In light of all this, I think I need an enormous amount of reviews, and possibly a muffin basket. Just saying.

Lixxle's influence is evident in this one, especially in the abuse of poultry and references to leather pants. If you haven't read her stuff, then do so immediately. It's far superior to mine, and is the hallmark which all Labyrinth fanfiction writers must strive for.

This story is set in current day-type times, due to use of internet and Matt Preston (it shall all be revealed in futher chapters).

Sadly, devestatingly, I do not own Labyrinth or anything associated with it. If you are in any doubt as to why, I leave you with this thought: gold hotpants.

And thus, it begins.

* * *

Chapter One

Jareth paced back and forth in the throne room. The chamber was ominously peaceful, like the calm just before a storm. The goblins, normally boisterous, today sat in (almost) orderly rows around the walls. They stared at their king with wide, curious eyes. This level of attention was usually reserved for a Summons.

"Did he say it?" One goblin asked loudly. He was quickly pounced upon, quieted with a volley of goblin palms over his large mouth.

"Ssshh!" The crowd warned him. One goblin waved a fork threateningly.

Jareth paused in the centre of the room, expression thoughtful. He tapped a gloved finger against his chin.

"Clearly," He said to no one in particular, "something must be done."

The goblins sat up a little, eager to hear The Plan.

"But what?" Jareth narrowed his eyes in concentration.

"Bog her?" Came one timid suggestion.

"Turn her into a chicken!" Came another, more loudly this time.

"Jareth pinched the bridge of his nose. "We've been _over_ this, you imbeciles! I want to _woo_ her, not... _traumatise_ her."

"Take her out to dinner!" A goblin squeaked. Everyone in the room turned to stare at him.

"Finally, some sign of intelligence!" Jareth cried. "I'm promoting you to Royal Advisor. What's your name?"

"Hig, Your Majesty." Hig took a deep bow, bulbous nose pressing into his protuberant belly.

"Well Hig, that's all very well and good, but how am I supposed to get her to come _to _dinner with me?"

Hig considered, tugging thoughtfully at a drooping earlobe. "Tie her to a chicken?" Jareth's eyes narrowed. "Sorry. Instinct."

"Do you have a serious suggestion, or am I going to have to demote you?"

"Demote me to what?" Hig asked suspiciously.

"Guardian of the Bog of Eternal Stench." Jareth answered with relish.

"Ah." Hig did his best to look deadly serious. Mostly he just looked like he had wind, but obviously the cogs began to turn.

Hig and Jareth both paced the throne room for a further ten minutes, until Hig let out a triumphant 'aha!'.

"If it has anything to do with chickens..." Jareth warned. Hig shook his head vehemently, large ears flapping. The Goblin King bent down obligingly, and Hig whispered his plan into his ear.

"You are remarkably intelligent for a goblin." Jareth commented a few minutes later.

"Mam was a dwarf." Hig said proudly.

"Remind me to encourage interspecies breeding." Jareth said, then paused, and shuddered delicately. "On second thought, that is a concept far too hideous to contemplate. But good work, Hig."

"Thankyou, Majesty." Hig looked down at the floor, placing his hands behind his back and kicking softly at the pavers. His cheeks blushed a delicate shade of blue.

Jareth stood, regarding his (generally) loyal subjects with a stern smirk and his hands placed regally upon his hips. "Come on, chaps! We have work to do!"

The room burst hurriedly into life.

...

Sarah lay on her bed, watching the patterns on the ceiling made by the headlamps which flashed past outside her window. As usual at this time of night, when the sky was black as pitch and all sane people were fast asleep, she was wide awake, thoughts tumbling above and below each other like the sea in a storm. Sarah hadn't had a decent night's sleep for five long, long years.

Maybe it was time for her to get some form of prescription.

She knew the cause, of course: a thirteen-hour trip to a fantasy land and a man with blond spiky hair and tight pants. Those few brief hours had turned her world upside down, destroying everything she thought real and making the familiar all the more precious. It had also left her somehow empty, like there was a hole in her chest that nothing seemed to fill.

And then there were the memories.

These memories filled her mind every time she let her concentration falter, overtaking her consciousness whenever she tried to sleep or rest. Worst of all, not all of them were from her time in the Labyrinth. They seemed to belong to someone else, for surely she had never lived these moments. It was impossible.

And yet, when she thought of a certain stretch of maze or a path of stone, another one blurred with it. When she thought of one hedge maze, another, far tamer, one wound its way through her mind. When she thought of one beautiful ballroom, a garish, bawdy one invaded her mind.

Sarah's night time routine had all the calming effects of sleeping on a bed of nails.

These memories confused her, giving her headaches and panic attacks. As a result, she never let herself lose concentration. She was more attentive than anyone she knew, focusing on whatever was at hand with a razor-sharp precision. She passed all her subjects at school with flying colours, and was now beginning a law degree (not because she necessarily enjoyed the subject, but because she felt it would keep her mind occupied).

However, the only time she was never able to satisfactorily apply her mind to something was when she fell into bed at the end of the day.

Tonight, strains of music battled for supremacy in her sleep-deprived mind. When she thought of one delicate melody, the comparatively harsh strains of another song had come crashing over the top. It was the same basic tune, but the instruments sounded positively medieval. The sounds clashed, making her head ache.

The only common element tying the two songs together was a honeydew voice singing a song of beauty. Sarah could barely remember the words, but she remembered the sound of his voice as well as if he were standing in the room with her. A voice so beautiful it made her heart ache with longing against her will.

Fed up and exhausted, mind tired from the confusion of strange memories and heart aching, Sarah began to sob.


	2. An Invitation

I'm delivering the next chapter to you now because I love you and I feel you deserve it. Also, because I am impatient and somewhat sporadic.

Sarah is jumpy and illogical, and Jareth's plan is slowly revealed. Well, actually, the first half of his two-point plan is actually very quickly revealed. No matter how clever Hig is, he's still a goblin, and thus somewhat simplistic.

The poem is 'Rondell of the Merciless Beauty' by Geoffrey Chaucer. Google it ;)

I do not own the poem or the Labyrinth. Obviously. Wish I did, but so do we all.

Reviews get chapters up faster!

* * *

Chapter Two

Sarah stumbled into her cramped kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee with clumsy movements. The smell revived her enough to begin to function slightly more normally. She grabbed a clean mug from the sink, waiting for the pot to boil.

This had to end. She would never survive university if she couldn't catch at least a few hours of sleep each night. It was time for her to move on from that incident in her childhood and stopped letting it control her life!

Sarah sighed, pouring herself a steaming mug of coffee. Like that was ever going to happen.

There was a loud knock on the door, making Sarah jump. Clutching her mug of coffee like a safety blanket, she opened it as much as the chain would allow.

"Letter for you." Her neighbour Peter stood at the top of the stairs, waving an envelope in front of the crack.

"Oh, right. Thanks. Um, morning." Sarah croaked, giving him a shaky smile.

"You're not really a morning person, are you?" He laughed, passing her the mail.

"Sorry." She grinned apologetically.

With a hearty wave he made his way back down the stairs. Sarah called a farewell after him, shuffling her way back to the kitchen.

The envelope was a heavy, cream-coloured parchment. On it was written her name and address in a stylish hand, a swirling pattern adorning the corners. Inside, on a thick sheet of card, were the details of a dinner reservation at a very expensive restaurant.

Sarah reached her fingers back inside the envelope, hoping for an explanation. She pulled out a small piece of thin, creamy paper. Suddenly nervous, she unfolded it, taking in the elegant, old-fashioned script. It was a short, simple message, written in a beautiful hand. There could only be one possible source.

_Your two great eyes slay me suddenly; Their beauty shakes me who was once serene; Straight through my heart the wound is quick and keen. –J_

Five years of incommunicado, and now this? A few choice lines from a Chaucer poem and a dinner reservation? Sarah sat back in her chair, running a hand through her hair. It didn't make sense. The message did; it was practically a reiteration of 'your eyes can be so cruel'. But dinner? Sarah held the invitation inches from her face, squinting at the typed text. The date was set for a week's time. The Goblin King was out of his mind.

She wasn't going to go.

She would only go to get answers.

But why should she go? What answers did she need?

She needed answers that would let her sleep. For the sake of that, she would go.

Why should her sleep depend on _him_? She could always get a prescription. She didn't _need_ him.

But what about her sanity? Her sanity sort of depended on answers, and as far as she was aware, he was the only place to get them.

Then maybe she would just have to go insane.

That's just silly. She was being stubborn. She would go.

Besides, he was _very_ attractive.

But what if he tried to seduce her? What if that was the whole purpose of this?

Now she was definitely being silly. He had better things to do than seduce half-crazed, over-worked insomniacs.

But she hadn't been like that five years ago. Maybe he remembered her the way she had been. Maybe he did want to seduce her.

Not that she really objected.

Don't be silly, of course she objected, she was just tired. More coffee, that's what she needed.

Does Jareth drink coffee?

Ok, now she was definitely losing it. She needed to go just to get some closure, so she could get him out of her head and get some _goddam_ sleep. So she was going.

Maybe.

No.

Yes.

She was going. That was final.

I think.


	3. A Dress

In which very little actually happens, but there are some mildly amusing lines. Meg is here because having her as an inner voice would be ripping off Lixxle far more than I am comfortable with.

Sarah's dress is kind of a combo of the one Kiera Knightely wears in _Atonement_ and the one Maggie Gyllenhal wears in _The Dark Knight_.

I own nothing, nothing, tralala, and especially not a Norwegian accountant, large pecs or no. Or a purple leather catsuit. Imagine those two combined... Hm...

Chapter Three

Sarah awoke the next day battling a strange mix of reluctance and excitement. If she was going to do this thing, she had a week to prepare herself. She rehearsed her final monologue over to herself, tried to recall all the moves she had learned in the self-defence classes she had taken with Karen, and used Google maps to plan escape routes should she need to do a runner from the restaurant.

Over her third cup of coffee, Sarah finally decided she was going to need backup.

"Meg? Hey, it's me." Sarah twirled the phone cord nervously between her fingers.

"Hey! How's things?" Meg answered with her usual perennial enthusiasm.

"Um, well, the thing is..." Sarah tried to determine how best to broach the subject. "I need... your help. With... shopping. For a dinner I'm going to."

"Ugh, some corporate dinner for your Dad's work again?"

"Not quite." Sarah sighed. "As far as I'm aware, it's just me and him."

"_Him_?!" Meg squealed down the phone. "You've finally got a date?!"

"Well, not quite." Sarah found herself grinning at Meg's enthusiasm. "It's... kind of complicated."

"I'm listening."

"I haven't seen him for five years, and, well... We didn't exactly part on the best of terms." Sarah ran a hand through her hair sheepishly. "Actually, I think I left him feeling not too great about me, if you catch my drift."

"Ooh, our Sarah the ball-breaker! Alright, I'll meet your there in fifteen. We're having a D&M about this guy before we get anywhere near a retail outlet, understand me?" Meg hung up with another excited squeal, leaving Sarah shaking her head in a 'what have I done?' manner.

Twenty minutes later the two of them sat in Sarah's cramped kitchen, drinking coffee and eating chocolate-chip cookies.

"So tell me _everything_. Don't spare the nasty little details." Meg clutched her mug eagerly, leaning in with eyes wide like a frizzy blonde marmoset.

"Ah, well, I met him because of Toby, when I was really still just a kid. I beat him at something he'd always expected to win, and didn't really do it in a very nice way. Then yesterday, I got a letter inviting me to dinner on Friday." Sarah sipped her coffee, burning the tip of her tongue. "And at this point in time, I have decided to go."

Meg stared at her blankly. "You're not very good at the whole 'nasty little details' bit, are you?"

"Sorry." Sarah gave her a lop-sided grin.

"What does he look like? How do you feel about him? How does _he_ feel about _you_?" She pressed, poking Sarah in the arm for emphasis.

"I don't know how he feels about me, but I don't imagine he's my number one fan, after what I did. As for how I feel about him... Well, he's always on the edge of my thoughts. I haven't really been able to stop thinking about him since I met him, as much as I try and avoid it. He frightens me, but I don't want him to be gone forever. Not really." Sarah admitted sheepishly. "Does that make sense?"

"It makes perfect sense. You're in love." Meg stated matter-of-factly.

"I am not!" Sarah cried indignantly.

"Whatever. So, what does he look like?"

"Well, ah... He's tall, with blonde, spiky hair, strange eyes, pale skin... Always wore tight pants." _And devastatingly gorgeous_, Sarah added internally.

"Spiky hair and tight pants?" Meg raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure he doesn't... you know... prefer other men?"

Sarah considered. "Pretty sure. Although, he _does_ wear an awful lot of makeup..."

"Maybe you turned him gay, and now he's contacted you again so you can speak at his commitment ceremony to a Norwegian accountant with enormous pecs."

"Not only are you not helping, but you're also seriously messed up." Sarah shook her head. "Norwegian accountant?"

"Hey, you let me live in my fantasy world, and I'll let you live in yours." Meg rose, grabbing her bag off the table. "Shall we?"

_Depending on how things go, I _might_ be living in a fantasy world_, Sarah thought to herself as they walked out the door.

An hour and a half later, they were browsing through racks in a boutique on Main. Meg had convinced Sarah she needed to splurge a little for her date (because it was definitely a date, Meg had assured her, given the class of the restaurant – and because she just liked to think of it that way).

"Ooh, try this one!" Meg tossed her a ridiculously short, bright red number with strappy sleeves and a frilly skirt.

"Now you're just being silly." Sarah laughed, putting the offending garment back on the rack.

"No, _this _is silly." She waved a purple, leather catsuit in the air.

"If you try and make me wear that, I _will_ have to kill you." Sarah warned.

"Alright, try this one." Meg pulled out dress of bottle-green silk, handing it to Sarah with many a dramatic movement. She adopted a false British accent as she held it up against her giggling friend. "Oh yes, Sarah darling, I think it may be quite perfect. Go try it on!"

Laughing, Sarah took the garment into the cramped change-room. She slipped out of her T-shirt and jeans, pulling the dress down over her head. Looking into the little mirror, Sarah drew a sharp intake of breath. _It's perfect_.

The dress fell to the ground, clinging tightly down her body before flaring out slightly at the knees. It had a square neck line, which showed enough cleavage to be seductive without being obscene, while the tightness of the bodice fairly enhanced her 'assets'. The silk clung to her every curve, enhancing precisely all the growing up she had done in the last five years. The sleeves were simple, Sarah noticed with a smirk, covering the shoulders without any superfluous puffiness. The green brought out her eyes, making them glow through the dark curtain of her hair.

All in all, it was quite possibly the most flattering thing she had ever worn, conveying precisely the right message for Jareth: I've grown up, and I'm not as naive as I used to be. You'll only touch me if I want you to. _And I do want you to_, that rebellious part of her brain whispered.

Meg knocked impatiently on the door of the change-room, and Sarah stepped outside to do the obligatory turn.

"_Wow_! Omigod, Sarah!" Meg squealed happily. "You'll knock 'im dead!"

"I certainly hope not." Sarah laughed.

"You're right. Bonking a dead guy _would_ be pretty creepy." Meg nodded seriously, earning herself a punch on the arm. "Ow! Hey!"

Another half hour and they had a pair of black drop earrings, a simple black choker and strappy black heels. _There goes any chances of me running away_, Sarah thought morosely as she stared at the shoebox on the way home.

"You have to let me do your hair and makeup." Meg insisted when she dropped her off. "And you have to call me straight after. Even if you have to put off the post-coitus cigarette."

"I really don't think it'll get to that stage." Sarah laughed.

"In that dress, he'd be crazy _not_ to shag you." Meg waved a hearty goodbye. "Call me if you hear from him before Friday!"

Sarah dragged herself up the eight flights of stairs to her tiny loft apartment, purchases under her arms. She draped the garment bag holding her dress over a chair, resolutely turning away from it as she pulled out the receipts to assess the damage. _I must be going insane,_ she told herself. _No more shopping while sleep-deprived_.

"Then again," she murmured, "if I didn't shop when sleep-deprived, I'd never shop at all."


	4. A Date

This is another chapter in which not much happens, or at least not until the very end. Sarah looks purdy and talks to herself too much. The next chapter shall bring Jareth in all his glory, I promise.

I do not own Labyrinth, Google or pepper spray. I do own a pretty green dress, but that's irrelevant.

Keep reviewing for a chapter-a-day! Otherwise I'll have to be mean and keep leaving you in suspense. And no one wants that. So stroke me ego! (Am I the only one who thinks that phrase sounds incredibly dirty?)

* * *

Chapter Four

For the rest of the week, Sarah slept even less than usual. As Friday loomed closer, her mind filled itself with a thousand possible scenarios. She was still concentrating as well as ever on her studies, but as soon as the lights went out, she was overwhelmed with a cacophony of thoughts. The dress still lay on the chair, looming out at her ominously whenever she walked by. It now took about seven cups of coffee to wake her up in the morning, so exhausted was she from her mind's nocturnal perambulations.

Finally, Friday loomed out of the blackness of sleep deprivation like Jack the Ripper from a foggy street. Exhausted, Sarah gave in to her body's demands on the Thursday night, taking unnecessary flu medication. She would need her wits about her to meet the Goblin King, and if knocking herself out on Codral was what it took, then so be it.

She woke on Friday morning feeling pleasantly refreshed, the effects of the medication wearing off with her second cup of coffee. However, Sarah felt anything but restful; she spent most of the day pacing around her apartment, running over in her head everything she knew about Jareth, everything she knew about defeating eldritch creatures, everything she knew about incapacitating someone.

Opting for practicality over vanity (something that would surely never happen to _him_), she opted for a large-ish black bag for the evening, big enough to slip a pair of lightweight runners into, should the need to run arise. She also included a can of pepper spray, just in case. Then, after a quick Google search, she added a small vial of salt and iron filings. She was nothing if not prepared.

Meg arrived three hours before Sarah was due at the restaurant, bag bulging with products designed to for heavy-duty dolling up. Half an hour before Sarah was due at the restaurant, Meg showed Sarah to a mirror.

"Irresistible, babe. You'll knock him dead." Meg assured her, zipping up the back of her dress.

Her hair had been curled, then pinned up in an elegant bun, two silken tendrils falling down to frame her face. Her lips and cheeks blushed a delicate pink, while her eyes were lit up with a subtle sweep of moss green eye shadow and ringed in black. The dress looked even more perfect than it had when she'd first tried it on. Even Sarah had to admit it: she looked _good_.

They dashed downstairs to the waiting taxi, Sarah removing her heels to make it down without catastrophe. The driver's eyes bugged a little when he saw her, and his hands inconspicuously moved to clear the number on the meter, which he had started running fifteen minutes ago.

"Remember, I want all the gory little details!" Meg yelled as the taxi pulled away from the curb. "Spare nothing!" Sarah flipped her off as the taxi rounded the corner, then stuck her head out the window to grin and wave madly.

She sobered up a little as Meg vanished from view, doing a quick check of her bag to make sure she had everything. Breathing deeply, Sarah tried to calm her nerves. Her fingers jittered and she tapped her foot, glancing anxiously out of the window at the city flying past.

After what seemed simultaneously to be an age and the blink of an eye, they pulled up outside the restaurant. Sarah paid the driver, then, taking a deep breath, stepped out into the night.

She walked into the restaurant, showed the details of her reservation, and was shown to a table for two in a private corner. She tapped her foot impatiently, shredding a complimentary breadstick with trembling fingers. Maybe he wasn't coming. Maybe this was all a joke; him standing her up as some kind of payback.

Some payback. Goblin King, Supreme Ruler of the Underground, and the best he cold come up with was standing her up at a fancy restaurant?

Maybe he was hoping she'd grow fat stuffing herself on complimentary breadsticks.

Oh yes, brilliant. She could see him sitting there in his throne room, holding one of those little crystals, laughing at her: 'Yes, my pretty, eat up! When you get home, you shall look in the mirror, and you shall have _thighs_! Mwahahaha!'

Well, Sarah wasn't going to stand for it. In fact, she was going to leave right now. That'd show him. Show _her_ up, why doesn't he. Stupid fluffy git.

"Hello, precious thing."

That voice. Soft as velvet, sharp as a razor, milk-and-honey laced with arsenic and opium and a thousand other substances that worked their way into the bloodstream and laced their tendrils around the heart. The voice that haunted her thoughts, sung lullabies to her that abolished any thoughts of sleep, reached its' silken fist into her chest and _squeezed _at the barest second's memory. That voice.

Slowly, slowly, Sarah raised her eyes. "Jareth", she whispered, and he smiled.


	5. A Meal

Complimentary breadsticks, perverse thoughts and cheap shots at Jareth's hair. This is what it's all about. There's also a bit of a send-up-y type thing of sorts to the bit in _Twilight_ with the waitress. Alas, I cannot say that 'real men don't sparkle', for where does that leave Jareth? But as hunky leading men go, he definitely blows Edward out of the water...

Once again, very little happens, other than Jareth being awesome. He was so much more fun to write for this one. Forget angsty, haughty, funny, pervy Jareth is where all the fun is.

I have no idea what kind of wine goes well with what meals, and I couldn't be bothered thinking of posh dishes for then to eat. Forgive me my ignorance.

I totally own Labyrinth, and David Bowie, and a posh restaurant. Believe me, don't you? Ok, I lie. Obviously.

Reviews get chapters up faster, boost me ego, and are likely to bring you more fanfiction in the future. You know what you have to do.

* * *

Chapter Five

His hair was short, with a fringe that flopped into his eyes with an easy grace. His eyebrows curved in a very human manner, one of them now arched in apparent amusement. He wore a formal white shirt, black dress pants and a black waistcoat, jacket hung casually over his arm.

Other than these few small vanities, he was as wild and handsome and otherworldly as she remembered.

Sarah rose awkwardly, feeling decidedly conspicuous., and very, _very_ human.

"Sarah," Jareth laughed, "you don't need to rise for me. You are, after all, the lady. Or have I misinterpreted human formalities?"

Sarah made to sit again, but he stopped her with a quick gesture of his hand. She fiddled with her napkin as he ran his eyes slowly over her, from the top of her head to her feet and back up again, gaze lingering in places that made her blush.

"You _have_ grown up." He said, sliding into his chair with effortless grace. Something in his voice seemed strange to Sarah; some emotion she couldn't place that made his voice catch, a feeling that seemed somehow out of place.

She sat, a little less graceful that Jareth, and began studiously studying the menu. He laughed, a deliciously low rumble, placing a finger on top of the menu and lowering it until she was forced to look at him.

"You haven't said a word to me since I arrived." He pouted, running a fingertip around the lip of his water glass. "What's the matter, precious thing? Owl got your tongue?"

"I thought it would be a little more polite for us to have at least ordered before..." Sarah tried to think of the right words. Before what?

"Before what?" Jareth voiced her unspoken thoughts, an amused glint in his eye. "Before you attack me with a volley of questions? Before you yell at me for stealing your youth? Before I am forced to flee for my life while you attack me with complimentary breadsticks?"

_Before I throw you on the table and ravish you in front of all these pesky mortals_, his inner voice added, then: _Ahem. I do believe you should keep those thoughts to yourself. In fact, don't even think them. I believe that is the wisest course of action._

"Something like that." Sarah mumbled. In fact, it was precisely that, as much as she hated to admit it. _He'd better not be reading my mind._

"Well then, by all means, let's get the formalities out of the way, shall we?" He gave a pointy little grin, picking up his own menu and reading it with a very serious expression. "Ugh, you mortals will eat the strangest things. Who on _earth_ would want to eat _chickens_?"

Sarah smirked. "You might enjoy it. Revenge for making a nest in your hair."

"Quite a vicious tongue you have there." Jareth glared at her over the top of his menu. "Those moronic birds had nothing whatsoever to do with my hair, Miss Williams, as I'm sure you are quite aware."

_Very_ _much aware,_ she thought to herself a little warmly. _Ah, well. At least you know cheap shots at his appearance will always get a reaction._

"Are you two ready to order?" A waitress in starched white uniform interrupted them, trying not to stare too obviously at Jareth.

"Sarah?" He arched an eyebrow in her direction. The waitress reluctantly turned her attention to Sarah.

"I'll have the fish, and, er, a red wine, thankyou." Sarah gave the waitress a swift smile before her full attention was given to Jareth.

"The poached chicken breast." He ordered with a triumphant smirk.

"And to drink?"

"What would _you_ recommend?" He leaned towards her, fingers laced together and eyes smouldering. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Ah..." The waitress stared blankly for a few moments, before her professionalism took over. "Well, the savon blanc is quite nice with chicken. Or, erm..."

"Perfect." Jareth purred, handing her the menus. "Thankyou very much."

She took the menus and walked away, slightly dazed expression on her face.

"Nice girl." Jareth gazed absent-mindedly at his fingernails. Sarah resisted the urge to kick him in the shin.

"So, Sarah, how is, ah, how is your family?" Jareth attempted after a few moments of silence.

"Are you honestly trying to make small talk?" Sarah asked, bewildered.

"I believe that is considered the 'norm' in these situations." He replied, tone slightly offended.

"This is hardly a normal situation." Sarah pointed out.

"Hm, right you are..." Jareth tapped his chin with an elegant finger. "Well then, I believe you had some questions?"


	6. A Question

You get two chapters today, because it's Valentine's Day (in Australia, which is where I am). Also, I'll probably be posting a one-shot in celebration of today's date. Something appropriately fluffy, no doubt.

Jareth was totally awesome to write in this chapter ^.^ He's so much fun like this. *bounces up and down in girlish glee* I hope you enjoy him as much as I did (oo-er).

I own nothing. If I did, the movie would probably have been a before-and-after piece: before I got my hands on Jareth, and the intensive therapy he'd require after...

It's Valentine's Day; send me some love.

Chapter Six

Sarah took a deep breath, running over the questions in her head. What to ask first? Maybe she should test the waters before she dived in.

Something simple, that wasn't going to be too shocking. "What are you?"

Jareth laughed. "Sarah, Sarah. Such an opportunity, and you ask me _that_? Try and be a _little_ original, precious thing."

"Just answer the question." Sarah grumbled, embarrassed.

"I come from a race that calls itself the Fae. Simply put, I am a supernatural being. Does that satisfy your curiosity?" He smirked, taking a delicate sip from his water glass. "This certainly is a gruelling interview."

Sarah resisted the urge to kick him under the table- she had a feeling this would only serve to amuse him more, and besides, her shoes were far too flimsy to inflict much damage. His answer hadn't really surprised her anyway; she had surmised as much from various trips to the library and lengthy internet searches.

"Fine, you fluffy git. Just give me a sec." She ran back over the questions in her head, looking for something more unnerving.

"'Fluffy git'? Oh, you wound me deeply, precious thing!" Jareth laughed, throwing back his head in mirth. "How cruel your words are."

That gave Sarah all the prompt she'd needed. "Those songs... The one you sang to me, in the Labyrinth. What did they mean? The things you said..."

For an instant, she thought she'd managed to catch him off guard; he'd frozen in place, face seemingly shocked, body tense. However, it was only the barest fraction of a second before a tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He steepled his fingers, regarding Sarah coolly over his elegant hands.

"Have you ever thought that perhaps I sing the same songs to all who pass through my kingdom?" His mouth was a sickle moon, but its' light did not reach his eyes.

For a moment, Sarah was gripped with a feeling of depressed panic; what if he did sing those words to everyone? What if she wasn't, as she'd argued with herself over, special? Then she scrutinised Jareth's face more closely, seeing the expression in his eyes.

"No." She tilted her head to the side, voice full of serious realisation. "I don't think you do. I think you sang those words just for me."

Jareth's eyes hardened, his mouth setting into a grim line. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"

"Just answer the question, Jareth."

At that moment, they were interrupted by the arrival of their meals. Jareth's gaze remained locked intensely on Sarah as their plates were set in front of them, only turning away from her to raise a quizzical eyebrow at the waitress hovering at his elbow.

"If you need _anything_ else, anything at all, just raise a hand." She told him, bending down a little with the pretence of assuring he heard her, but, to Sarah's disgust, really just assuring he saw plenty of her ample cleavage.

Jareth leaned forward, grinning in a predatory manner. "I'll make sure to take you up on that."

The waitress flushed pink, biting her lip and dithering. "Did you want a- another glass of water, or-"

"If you don't mind..." Jareth motioned at Sarah briefly, smiling apologetically.

"Oh, ah, yes. Right, of course." She scuttled off, pausing only to send Sarah a look so scathing she almost checked to make sure she hadn't been skinned alive.

"Helpful little thing." Jareth commented. "Maybe I should have invited her out to dinner; _she_ obviously appreciates what I have to offer."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "I'm sure if she knew what you were offering, she'd run a mile."

"You ran several." Jareth nodded, then smirked. "Mind you, you were running _towards_ me."

"I was running towards Toby!" Sarah cried indignantly.

"Personally, I like to think that your brother and I being in the same castle was purely coincidental." Jareth replied drily, eyeing his plate.

"If that's what you need to think to keep your ego intact, then fine." Sarah snapped. "But don't think you've gotten out of answering my question."

"Sarah, please, I am trying to enjoy me dinner." Jareth picked up his cutlery and proceeded to cut into his chicken with much relish and aplomb.

"Fluffy git." Sarah muttered, picking up her own knife and fork.

"You know, you're even prettier when you're mad." Jareth remarked. Sarah whipped her head up, but he was busy biting into another piece of chicken, and shook his head when she tried to get a response, motioning to his chewing movements.

Sarah stabbed violently into her fish, imagining it was Jareth's face being skewered by the prongs of her fork. _Stupid, fluffy, poncy, tight-panted, glittery, womanising, moronic git_.

A few minutes later, Jareth looked up from is meal, a lazy grin on his handsome features. "I must say, this is quite good. If it weren't for the fact that the goblins would revolt again, I would introduce chicken to the royal menu."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to get on with it." Sarah grumbled.

"Get on with your idea of what this is, or mine?" Jareth asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because, precious thing, my plans for tonight did not involve being grilled with your questions."

"Oh? And what exactly did your plans involve?" Sarah's tone was scathing, but she couldn't deny she did feel a little curious.

Jareth grinned, waving a hand lazily in the air. Their waitress materialised at their side, presenting them with dessert menus and whisking away their plates.

"You have her trained already." Sarah shook her head despairingly.

"Hush, precious thing. I'm telling you about my plans for tonight." He scanned the menu briefly, then grinned triumphantly and showing her a particular dish. "Now, see this part where it says 'smothered in chocolate'?"

Sarah stared blankly at his predatory grin for a few moments, then blushed profusely as she caught on to his meaning. "You... you..."

"Dashingly handsome villain? Loveable rogue? Villainous fiend with glorious hair?" Jareth smiled widely, like a cat with its' paw in the fish bowl. "Shall I give you some more suggestions?"

"How about creep?" Sarah crossed her arms. "Or pervert? Complete voyeur? Do you need some more, or am I getting the message across?"

Jareth smirked, obviously enjoying himself. "We can get to all the things you want to call me later on. Right now, I believe you still have some questions?" His eyes widened innocently.

_Fluffy git_.


	7. Dessert

Here's another chapter, because I love you ^.^ Jareth is, once again, highly amusing (to anyone except Sarah) and avoiding the questions. Poor Sarah.

You know I don't own anything. And you know what would happen if I did.

Gimme some sugar.

* * *

Chapter Seven

"You still haven't answered my other question." Sarah pointed out as she scanned the dessert menu, looking in particular for anything that did not include the word 'smothered' in its' description. _Hm... 'drowned in custard'. That seems more like it..._

"Haven't we moved on from that?" Jareth said distractedly, motioning for the waitress.

"Fine." Sarah narrowed her eyes as Jareth's new biggest fan appeared.

"Have you made your choices?" She asked, attention solely on Jareth.

"We'll share the mudcake." Jareth replied, before Sarah could open her mouth to protest.

"Can I get you anything else?" Her double meaning was implicit.

"Not right _now_." The double meaning was just as strong.

The waitress gave him a seductive little smirk before sauntering off, taking the menus with her.

"Now, where were we?" Jareth smiled pleasantly.

"You're ordering for me now?" Sarah raised an eyebrow, displeasure evident. "And to share?"

"I told you my plans involved 'smothered in chocolate' and you. I didn't name specifics." He grinned, points of his teeth shining. "It's your own fault if you misunderstood me."

"Have I mentioned that you're a fluffy git?" She scowled.

"Once or twice."

Sarah breathed deeply, struggling to remain calm. Run the Labyrinth in thirteen hours? Fine, no sweat. Do her SAT while holding down a part-time job and performing baby-sitting duties at a moment's notice? Piece of cake. Dinner with the Goblin King? That's where she began to unravel.

"Alright, next question. And you're _going_ to answer this one." She pointed a finger at him threateningly.

"Of course." Jareth nodded. "Depending on what it is, mind you."

She glared at him, and he held up his hands defensively. "Alright, alright. No matter what you ask me, I shall answer it. Even if it's something as trivial and inane as 'boxers or briefs?*****'. Honestly, Sarah, you really are quite cruel."

"Good." Sarah huffed, then paused. _Boxers or briefs? Hm..._

As if reading her thoughts, Jareth leaned forward conspiratorially, motioning for Sarah to do the same. "_Neither_." He whispered, holding a finger to his lips.

Sarah sat back, blinking away a dazzling variety of mental mages that, ah,_ presented_ themselves to her. "Oh, ah, erm, right, well... My, ah, original question."

"Ask away." Jareth leaned back in his chair, waving a regal hand.

"Alright... Um, well, ever since I went through the Labyrinth, I've, well, obviously I've had memories of- of that, but the memories... well, sometimes, they don't... They don't _fit_. There's the memories of when I ran the Labyrinth, and then there are these _other_ memories, that seem so similar, but they're different, they're not- they're not _mine_. They _couldn't_ be mine. And yet... Well, I was just... I was just wondering, if you, perhaps, happened to, you know, know... anything about... about that..." She trailed off, gazing down at her hands.

Jareth froze, whole body going rigid. His eyes widened and his fists clenched, tendons standing out on the backs of his hands. A forest fire of emotions burned in his eyes, temporarily consuming all rational thought; ecstatic joy, fear, worry, frustration, all were there. For a good minute he stopped breathing as he processed what she had said._ She was remembering_. The activity he had pinned all his hopes for future happiness on may be successful after all, rather than a mad gamble. He was going to get her back.

"Jareth?" Sarah asked timidly, slightly afraid of his reaction. She resisted the urge to wave her hand in front of his face, the way people did on TV.

"Those are your memories." He whispered softly, body relaxing but eyes still focused on something far, far away.

"What? What do you mean?" Sarah pressed.

"Hm?" Jareth blinked, coming back to reality. "Don't worry, precious thing. Your questions shall be answered, just not tonight."

"Hey! You promised!" Sarah cried, indignant.

"Hush." Jareth placed a hand over hers. "I promised I would answer, but I didn't promise when. It is easier for me to answer another time."

"When?" Sarah asked, voice tired, lost, little and sad.

"Soon, precious thing. Soon." He flipped her hand over, sliding his underneath it. He rubbed circles into her palm with his thumb, smiling as she tried to hide the electric currents his touch was sending through her.

"Your dessert." The waitress interrupted them, sliding the plate into the centre of the table with a decided lack of grace. Sarah claimed back her hand, clutching her fork and trying not to blush.

"Thankyou. Your service has been exquisite." Jareth gave her the full force of his dazzling smile, leaving her somewhat stunned.

"If you nee-"

"You may go." Jareth waved her off, and she left looking as though she were about to cry.

They ate in silence for several minutes, Jareth looking contemplative, Sarah feeling awkward.

"No more questions, precious thing?" Jareth asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Why bother if you're not going to answer them?" She replied, voice dripping with disdain.

"You're quite feisty this evening, aren't you?" Jareth smirked. Sarah chose to ignore him.

"Well, judging by the brisk pace this conversation is trotting along at, I surmise it is time for us to depart." Jareth rose, taking his jacket off the back of his chair and hanging it casually over one arm.

Before Sarah had time to rise, he was at her side, pulling out her chair and offering his hand. Blushing, she accepted, allowing him his gentlemanly act. They walked out of the restaurant, waiting on the curb while Jareth hailed a taxi. It glided in with the erratic speed expected of cab drivers. Jareth opened the door, standing back to let Sarah in.

"Wait a minute." Sarah paused, one leg in the taxi. "We didn't pay."

Jareth grinned wickedly. "Don't worry, precious thing. It's all taken care of."

"Jareth..." There was a warning in her tone.

"Come along, Sarah. The meter's running." He ushered her into the cab with a smirk.

* * *

***AN: **He wears long-johns, obviously ^.^


	8. A Glamour

Tiny widdle bit of plot advancement at the end of this chapter, as well as some squee, but mostly just amusingment.

For those of you who don't know, Matt Preston is an Australian food critic. He shot to fame as one of the judges of Master Chef Australia. He's tubby, has fluffy hair, wears tight pants and is rather fond of cravats. His recent autobiography is called 'Cravatalicious', and has an entire chapter devoted to his love of cravats. I lub him very much.

There's a little tribute in here to 'Girls Next Door', the ah-_may_-zing webcomic by Pika-La-Cynique, which can be found on DeviantArt. If you haven't read it, then what on earth are you doing here?! It's vastly superior to anything I will ever create, and is a must for all Labyrinth fans, among others. Off you go!

I do not own Matt Preston, Labyrinth or anything else related to these matters. I just use them to pervert the course of justice (or something).

Reviews are my drug, and you are my supplier. I've paid you, now cough up! (please tell me if I'm being too needy; preferably in the form of a review ^.^ No, really, tell me to sod off if you want)

* * *

Chapter Eight

Jareth slid in next to Sarah as she gave the driver her address. They pulled away from the curb with startling speed, joining the crush of city traffic with a casual spin of the wheel.

"Such a primitive form of transport." Jareth commented drily. "This world was so much more interesting when there was still magic in it."

"What did you mean when you said 'it's all taken care of'?" Sarah asked, raising an irritated eyebrow at him.

"I thought you were done with the questions?" He replied with a smirk, then, seeing her expression, "Fine. I... used a little glamour."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I used magic to make them think I was a famous food critic. That poncy fellow who wears the cravats." He said all this while staring at his fingernails, refusing to meet her eyes.

"You got us free food because you pretended to be Matt Preston?" Sarah tossed up between being incredulous, annoyed, or amused. For the moment, incredulous was winning.

"For everyone but our waitress." He smirked.

"About that: if you were trying to make me jealous, it wasn't working." Sarah lied.

"Of course not." He grinned knowingly.

The driver interrupted them to ask for directions, and Sarah was preoccupied for a few minutes with pointing him in the right direction. Jareth took the opportunity to observe, watching her closely from the corner of his eye. She was older than he'd ever known her; that first time, she had barely been a woman, though wise beyond her years. In the Labyrinth, she had still been a child, barely aware that she was changing from girl to woman. Now... Now, she was an adult. She had come into her womanhood fully, with all the dips and curves that womanhood dictates. She was incredibly, achingly beautiful, and that wasn't just him being biased; he had seen the way men's heads turned when she walked past, the way the cab driver kept eyeing her in the rear view mirror. Venus herself could not have looked more beautiful than Sarah did tonight, in her green dress with her dark hair slipping out of its bun.

With a casual hand, Jareth reached up and removed the comb holding her hair in place. It cascaded softly over her shoulders, spilling down almost to her waist.

"Oh!" Sarah cried in surprise, looking up at Jareth indignantly.

"It looks nicer like this." He tilted his head to the side, looking at her with an expression she couldn't place.

She blushed, smoothing her hair self-consciously. Jareth gently pushed her hand away, tucking a stray curl behind her ear with careful fingers. His touch left pleasurable goose-bumps on her skin, and she shivered involuntarily. His hand lingered on her cheek, gently cupping her face. Sarah froze as he leaned towards her, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. Jareth hovered an inch from her face, watching her reaction with an expression in turns predatory and amused.

"This it?" The cab driver interrupted them after a few moments of being frozen in position. Sarah shook herself, pulling away from Jareth's touch. He sat back and folded his arms, a victorious smirk on his lips.

"Yes, this is it. Thankyou." There was a barely concealed not of irritation in her voice that made Jareth grin all the wider.

They pulled over to the curb outside Sarah's apartment block and Jareth _appeared_ to pay the driver (Sarah couldn't be entirely sure). She made to get out of the car, then jumped as a hand suddenly appeared in front of her. She followed the hand to the wrist, up the arm to the shoulder, to where it was attached to the rest of Jareth.

"Jumpy, precious thing?" He smirked as he helped her out of the idling taxi.

Sarah grumbled something unintelligible as they walked into the lobby, Jareth still holding onto her hand. She marched over to the stairs, the Goblin King in tow.

"Can't we take the elevator?" Jareth pouted.

"It's broken. Besides, I wouldn't trust you with the combination of me, small space and an emergency stop button." Sarah gave him a patronising little smirk. "What's wrong, Your Majesty? Afraid of a little exercise?"

"How many floors does this building have?" Jareth had stopped at the bottom of the stairs, eyeing Sarah suspiciously.

"Ten. And I'm right at the top. Nice little loft apartment." She smiled sweetly at him. "Is that a problem?"

"Of course you live at the top... So cruel, Sarah." Jareth grumbled, then gazed appreciatively at his eye-level view of Sarah, who was a few steps above him. "Although that's probably why you have such nice legs."

"You are so-!" Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Charming? Dashing? Handsome?" Jareth grinned wolfishly. "Irresistible?"

"How about lewd, voyeuristic and perverse?" She fixed him with a triumphant stare. "And fluffy."

Jareth rolled his eyes, pulling her down the stairs towards him. He snaked an arm around her waist, pulling her against his chest.

"Hey!" She made to hit him, but was interrupted by the sudden onset of weightlessness, over before it had really begun.

Looking around, she realised they were outside the door to her apartment. Jareth was also in his normal form, hair falling down his shoulders and eyebrows angled wildly upwards. He was clad in black leather pants and a shirt of ruby red, a heavily embroidered waistcoat over the top.

"If I want stairs, I'll visit the Escher Room." He grinned his pointed-tooth grin at her.

"As soon as my stomach arrives, I am going to hit you." Sarah glared at him, but didn't move out of his arms. She felt that if she did, she was highly likely to fall over, and then she'd never hear the end of it.

"Of course you are, precious." Jareth laughed softly, moving his face in closer to hers.

Her heart stopped for what felt like a full minute, then started up again with a great gusto, thrumming wildly against her ribcage. She could feel his breath on her skin, taste its' sweet scent. She was hyper-aware of every point of contact between them, and everywhere they weren't touching burned with longing. His hair brushed her cheeks, feather-soft and gold as sunlight. His lips hovered millimetres from hers.

"I have one more thing to ask of you, precious thing." He murmured, voice a velvet purr. She swallowed, nodding once, a jerky bobbing of the head. Her eyes did not leave his.

He placed a hand on her stomach, running it up over her stomach, her breasts, shoulders, running a finger over her throat and down her jaw. Then he held the hand in front of her face, showing her the crystal glinting lazily in his palm.

"Take it." He purred, smiling as she reached out a hand to grasp the orb.

"What is it?" She whispered, battling between suspicion and the honeyed promises of his voice.

"You'll see." He grinned as she took the crystal from him. Jareth placed his hand back under her chin, crushing his lips briefly to hers. Then, like a beautiful apparition, he was gone.

After she had remembered how to breathe, Sarah looked down at the crystal. It had become a gilt envelope; with shaking hands she tore it open, eagerly pulling out the letter inside. Scanning it quickly, Sarah's flustered grin faltered, then fell. She blinked in confusion, reading the letter again. Was he completely mad?

"He wants to take me _bungee jumping_?"

* * *

**AN-** Naked, chocolate-smothered Jareth to anyone who can figure out what he's up to... 


	9. A Phonecall

Meg is irritating and Sarah is paranoid. Much of the same, I suppose.

Kudos to all the clever cookies who are clued on to Jareth's plans. Let's see how well they go, shall we?

I have done a special little Valentine's Day fic for you all. Quite belated, who knows when it'll actually get up, but it has pirates in it, so you have that to look forward to.

I think there's another chapter or so to go before anything actually happens, but there's plenty of giggles until then.

I own nothing, nothing, tra la la (I know I've said that already, but I'm too sleepy to be more original).

Do you love me? Then tell me!

* * *

Chapter Nine

"Bungee jumping? Are you serious?"

It was the morning after, and Sarah had finally stumbled out of bed to answer to phone after Meg had left seven increasingly panicked and irritating messages. Sarah had given her a very-nearly-almost full run through of the night's events, omitting of course the parts about magical teleportation and Matt Preston. Now they were debating the second-date potential of extreme sports.

"That's what it says. I wouldn't have picked him for an adrenaline junkie." Sarah took a bite from an apple, teeth piercing the glossy red flesh with a satisfying _crunch_.

"It is pretty weird… Besides, don't you have some crippling fear of heights or something?" Meg was silent for a few moments as Sarah chewed. "Maybe _this_ is his revenge."

"I dunno…" Sarah considered slowly. "I don't see how he could know about that. And anyway, he had plenty of opportunity to do something to me last night. I mean, aside from being an arrogant git, he was fine. Not at all displaying an overwhelming desire for fulfilling a vendetta against me."

"Maybe he decided that he was so in love with you, and you hurt him so badly, that he simply can't live without you, so he's going to kill you, and he's going to cut your bungee cord so you plummet to your death and he can make it look like an accident!" She exclaimed, tone deadly serious.

"Meg."

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"OK." There was complete silence on the other end of the line.

"Meg?"

Silence.

"Hello? You there?"

"Maybe."

"What are you doing?"

"You told me to shut up."

"Meg."

"Yes?"

"You're a douche."

"Thankyou."

"Anyway…" Sarah shook her head, grinning to herself. "Do you have any serious advice for me, or am I going to have to reach down the phone line and punch you in the face?"

"Oh, that's nice, that is… Here I am, concerned for your safety, merely wanting to protect you from dashingly handsome psychopaths, and that's the thanks I get? What has the world come to when one's best girlfriend isn't safe in her own bed, is threatened on her very phone line, when-"

"_Meg_."

"Sorry. Erm, serious suggestions… I suppose telling you to jump his bones as soon as you see him and making him forget all about bungee jumping with the sheer force of your sexy doesn't qualify as a serious suggestion?"

"No." Sarah paused. "The sheer force of my sexy?"

"My dear, this is no time for grammatical correctness. There is romance and possibly horrible death afoot!"

"No one is going to die horribly."

"No, of course not. I mean, there was that guy in Thailand or something whose rope broke, and he survived. He was in a lot of pain, but he survived."

"Meg."

"Yes?"

"I'm going to hang up now."

"OK. Fair enough."

Sarah put the phone down, pressing the button to end the call. Despite herself, Meg's words _had _made her slightly paranoid. What if Jareth did want to kill her? She couldn't see any reason _why_, but you never really knew with magical beings. Though he _had_ kissed her. Surely that meant he didn't want to kill her?

Unless his kiss activated some kind of slow-working poison that was at this very second coursing through her veins.

_Don't be ridiculous_, she scolded herself. _Jareth is not trying to kill you_.

She made her way to the kitchen, switching on the kettle and grabbing a jar of instant coffee from the cupboard. Too impatient to wait for the water to boil, she fetched a spoon from the drawer and dipped it directly into the jar, crunching on the coffee granules. Sarah made a face, shuddering, then took another spoonful.

Bungee jumping. Right. Not something she'd ever really thought about doing, what with her crippling fear of heights and all. She may be living on the top floor, and she may have the occasional dream about soaring above the treetops as a resplendent white owl _bird_, but put her on the edge of anything even remotely resembling an abyss, and all monologues died in her throat. On her run through the Labyrinth, she had faced those fears for Toby. He was her goal, her purpose, and her fears didn't matter. Now, however, she was facing the inevitability of having to jump of the side of a bridge with nothing but a rope stopping her from plunging to her death, at the whim of a man who, realistically, she barely knew and who possibly wanted her dead. But she'd decided to go, and that was that.

Sarah scrutinised the jar in her hands. If she was going bungee jumping, then she was going to need a lot more coffee.


	10. A Bogging

Sarah may have to deal with Meg, but Jareth has to deal with an irritatingly insightful dwarf-goblin. It's simply too much...

This chapter makes me giggle. It is pointless and silly, but it makes me giggle. And that is what is important in life.

I do not own the Labyrinth. I do own a stapler. It is small and green and thinking about it inexplicably brings about a desire for pickles.

I'm having a crappy day, so tell me how much you love me.

* * *

Chapter Ten

Jareth sat quite still on his throne, face contorted in a manner that gave him the appearance of being deep in thought. In truth, he was caught between delirious preening and neurotic worry, and was now stuck in a state of ego-induced confusion.

The dinner had seemed to go quite well, all things considered. Sarah had been exceedingly beautiful, as per usual. Beautiful enough to completely eclipse all memories he had of her, distorted by time as they were. He had, if he said so himself, been quite charming and debonair. He had even thoroughly enjoyed the bickering, and Jareth had the feeling she had as well. Her questions had been a little uncomfortable, but if everything went according to plan, she would soon have all her answers.

_If everything went according to plan._

That was just it, wasn't it? Jareth was relying entirely on a plan formulated by a goblin, which was, in all reality, a last-ditch attempt to make up for the failings of his own brilliant schemes (not at all his fault, of course; he blamed it all on Hogwart). If this didn't work, there was nothing left for him to try.

Hig shuffled past, patting Jareth comfortingly on his leather-clad knee. "Don't worry, Majesty. It'll work, I'm sure of it."

The Royal Advisor had taken to wearing a purple tea cosy hung about with cheap gold earrings as the sign of his station. Every time he ran, jumped or nodded, the large pom-pom on top wobbled dangerously, threatening to send the whole confection careening to the floor. To prevent this from happening, the other goblins had helpfully stapled the tea cosy to Hig's head. The pom-pom still wobbled with every movement, but now the Official Headdress of the Royal Advisor stayed firmly in place, as did several other items in the throne room, including two strings of sausages, four goblins, and seven chickens (Jareth had been forced to issue an emergency decree banning all visits to Aboveground office supply stores).

"Forgive me if I don't quite share your eternal optimism." Jareth sighed, arranging his features into an appropriately arrogant smirk as he gazed down at his Royal Advisor.

"Opti what, Majesty?" Hig asked pleasantly.

Jareth shook his head. "Never mind… The point is, what am I supposed to do if this plan of yours doesn't work?"

"Bog me?" Hig offered.

Jareth considered. "Yes, I suppose that does seem like the logical decision. Although, it doesn't really _help_, does it?"

"Did it ever help?" The dwarf-goblin replied wisely. "Or was it just to make you feel better about yourself?"

"Hig, this conversation is veering dangerously close to psycho-analysis, and I do not like that. In fact, if it continues, I shall have to Bog you for insubordination." He placed his hands on his hips, raising a delicately angry eyebrow.

"Insub what, Majesty?"

"Never mind. The point is-"

"You'll Bog me?"

"Precisely. As will happen if you interrupt me again."

"Sorry, Majesty."

"In fact, I _am_ in the mood for a Bogging." Jareth addressed the entire throne room. "The next one of you to do anything in the least bit annoying shall be suspended head-first in the Bog of Eternal Stench."

The Goblins cheered (it had, after all, been a terribly long time since anyone was bogged), then began running over each other in a desperate bid to not be annoying. It the ensuing scuffle, chickens were kicked, noses were trodden on, goblins were kicked, chickens were trodden on, and Hig _almost_ lost his hat (a few staples were pulled loose, but in the end it was quite secure).

"Right." Jareth said, hands on hips and a devilish grin on his face. "That's all of you then."

There was a cheer, then all the life forms in the throne room –other than Jareth and Hig- disappeared with a loud _squelch_.

"I _do_ feel much better now." Jareth noted with a pleased smirk. "Remind me to do that more often."

"Yes, Majesty."

"Right, then. What was I doing?" Jareth tapped his chin. "Ah, yes. Sarah."

He strode to the window, looking out at the clock tower that rose out of the shuffling mess of the Goblin City. It had three faces, each with its' own individual design. One was modelled on the elegant piece Jareth displayed to his runners, and the other two relied on the whims of the goblins. At the present moment, one had a straggled blonde wig on the end of one arm and appeared to be modelled on Jareth himself, while the other was clearly and inexplicably a Mickey Mouse.

"Hig." Jareth's voice was dangerously low.

"Yes, Highness?" Hig replied, a note of caution detectable in his voice.

"Why are the clocks telling me I have half an hour left before I am to meet Sarah?" His tone was velvet soft, dripping with an anger that threatened to burst through at any moment.

"Ah..." Hig began to shuffle very slowly backwards. "Probably because you do, Sire."

"Why was I not informed of this hours ago?"

"Ah, well, you weren't really... you were frozen, and... ah..." He began surreptitiously looking for an exit.

"You do realise what this means, don't you?" Jareth purred, darting out a hand to grab Hig by the scruff of his neck.

"Not the Bog, Highness!" Hig squealed, squirming and kicking.

"In light of the assistance you have given me, I am not going to Bog you." Hig breathed a sigh of relief, but Jareth held up a hand to silence him. "I am, however, going to Bog your hat."

Hig's eyes went wide and his lip began to tremble. "No, Highness, not the hat! Anything but that!"

"Oh _yes_, the hat!" Jareth cried, waving a hand. With a loud _pop_, the staples pulled free of Hig's head and the purple monstrosity disappeared.

Jareth dropped the dwarf-goblin to the floor, where he sat on his backside and began very quietly sobbing. Then Jareth strode to the centre of the room and waved a hand over himself, changing immediately to his human guise. Then without another word he disappeared, leaving behind a cloud of glitter and the smell of ozone.


	11. A Wilderness Extreme Park

So many lovely reviews, thankyou. You make me laugh and boost my ego. It means a lot that people enjoy what I write. I promise I'll eventually write a novel that you can all buy. I will, really. As soon as I can drag myself away from Labyrinth fan fiction. It's surprisingly difficult.

More giggles in this chapter. Jareth fails a little, but recovers fairly well. And Sarah... poor thing. I really do feel for her. I myself have no crippling phobias (although I do really, really hate heat and fire. I believe I was burned at the stake in a past life), but I fully sympathise with those who do. Unless they're really silly. And believe me, there are some odd ones out there. Sarah compensates my being especially snarky.

I do not own Labyrinth, or a wilderness adventure park. The closest I have come to extreme sport is school camp. I came very close to murdering someone with a butter knife. Don't take me camping.

Reviews make me happy (but you already know that).

* * *

Chapter Eleven

Sarah stood in front of her bathroom mirror, appraising her reflection with a critical eye.

She had declined Meg's offer to take her shopping, knowing that she would probably have come back with something floaty and frilly and not at all suited to the day's activities. Instead, she had opted for black jeans which stopped mid-calf and a bottle-green T-shirt with a boat neck. It was practical, but still showed a little skin. Her vanity would permit her that, at least. She doubted _his _would.

Sarah smirked for a moment as she pictured Jareth bungee-jumping while wearing tights and a poet's shirt, hair streaming along behind him. Then she realised she was also picturing him jumping from incredible heights, and spun around to lean over the toilet bowl. She had vomited the night before after spending several hours lying awake picturing incredibly high things and what would happen to the bodies she was mentally pushing off them.

_Get yourself together_, she scolded herself. _Just think how_ he _will react if you puke up there_.

She took a few deep, shuddering breaths, then jumped loudly at the sound of her door buzzer. Stumbling to her feet, she ran to the intercom.

"Hello?" She panted.

"Taxi here for a Sarah Williams?" The voice was gruff, with a slight accent.

"Be down in a minute."

"The meter's running, love."

"Ok. See you soon."

She grabbed her bag, dashing out the door and taking the stairs two at a time. No time to revisit her breakfast now; Thunderbirds were go.

...

The taxi took her to what was apparently a 'wilderness adventure park' on the other side of the city. At first glance, it appeared disconcertingly run-down. At second glance, even more so.

_Maybe he really_ is _trying to bump me off_, Sarah thought nervously to herself. She quickly jumped on that thought and wrestled it to a far-reaching corner of her mind, where she couldn't hear its' plaintive calls of 'turn back before it's too late!' and 'I don't want to have to say I told you so!'.

Sarah stepped out of the taxi after paying the hefty fee, then took a deep breath and stepped up to the ticket booth. The woman behind the counter looked like she had once been very outdoorsy and athletic, with ropey limbs and skin that, to put it kindly, had obviously seen its' fair share of sun. She now had wispy hair, smeared lipstick and a hardened expression. Her age was impossible to tell, though Sarah had a feeling she wasn't anywhere near as old as she looked. From under a mountain of blue eye-shadow peered two suspicious blackcurrant eyes, looking Sarah up and down as though she had just walked in with a balaclava and a smoking briefcase.

Sarah showed her the piece of paper detailing her 'entertainment' for the day. The woman held the paper a half-inch from her face, scrutinising it as though it may hold the secrets to life itself. She eventually handed it back, pointing the way to Sarah with a grunt and a gesture of a red-painted claw.

She hurried off down the indicated path, eager to get away from the grumpy lizard-woman. It took her to a dilapidated building with a flaky sign marked 'adrenaline briefing zone'. Sarah raised a dubious eyebrow, but walked up to the door regardless. Then there was a sudden crackle and a burst of glitter, and she walked into something that had definitely not been in her path a moment ago, falling and landing on her backside with an _oof_.

"What the f—" Sarah looked up at the dark figure eclipsing the sun as a pair of strong arms pulled her to her feet.

"That wasn't particularly suave, was it?" Jareth looked at her with a worried expression, looking slightly ruffled and more than a little sparkly.

"On a scale of one to ten, with one being the suavest thing any one has ever done, that was about an eleven." She replied grumpily, brushing dirt from her backside.

Jareth sighed, then attempted a more regal expression. It mostly worked. "I was a bit pressed for time, I'm afraid. Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine, you fluffy git." Sarah grumbled, marching towards the 'adrenaline briefing zone'.

"Yes, you do seem to be in top form today, Miss Williams." Jareth smirked.

"Shut up." She scowled. "How on earth could you have been running late? You _can_ reorder time, as I recall it."

"Time runs differently in the Underground, as you may recall. Also, I had to Bog an entire throne room of semi-intelligent beings today." He replied wearily. "And a hat."

"A hat? Why on earth would you have to Bog a hat?"

"It's a long story. I also had a lot on my mind, as I'm sure you can imagine." He gestured towards the open doorway. "Shall we?"

"A lot on your mind? Like what, 'I wonder which gloves will go best with these pants'?"

"Ah, whatever did I do without your exorbitant wit?" Jareth replied sarcastically as they entered the musty building.

"Probably talked to chickens." Sarah muttered under her breath. Jareth chose to ignore her.

Sarah had noted that he was not, in fact, wearing his usual gloves. He was in his short-haired human guise, wearing a white, button-up shirt and a pair of tight-fitting blue jeans.

However, all thoughts of examining exactly how tight his jeans were was quickly interrupted at the sight of several posters covering the walls, each depicting some form of extreme sport. Most of them involved climbing or jumping from some great height.

Nausea began to creep in.


	12. An Instructor

It takes a bloody long time for anything to happen in this fic, doesn't it?

I now introduce a new original character whose purpose it is to make you giggle, as there is an awful lot of 'ohshitohshitohshit' going on with Sarah right now, for reasons you all know. The name was suggested by my mother (she doesn't read my fics, merciful heavens, I was just asking for a good name for his kind of character). He's kind of every camp instructor I've ever wanted to punch in the face, all rolled into one (there have been quite a few; I really hate school camps). Mine didn't actually say 'extreme' a lot or anything, but it's the principle of the thing. Jareth is decidedly not impressed, and possibly a little scared.

I have never been bungee jumping, so I haven't got a clue what the apparatus is supposed to look like. Just pretend I know everything, mmkay? Oh, and I've never seen a Beach Boys clip either. Again, I'm assuming.

I don't own Labyrinth, the Beach Boys, a golf buggy, a Christian youth camp, an extreme adventure park or a tanned gent by the name of Randy. I wish I did own Labyrinth and a golf buggy. I see the possibility for me owning one of those in future, but not at this current point in time.

Thankyou so much for all the wonderful reviews, you really know how to make my day! There have definitely been some giggles generated by you awesome folks. So keep 'em rollin' in!

* * *

Chapter Twelve

"Howdy, folks!" They were greeted by the kind of overly cheery, bleached-and-tanned male one generally saw in Christian youth camps and Beach Boys videos.

"Hey!" Sarah responded cheerily, soliciting a scowl from Jareth.

"My name is Randy, I'll be your totally extreme safety officer for today!" He shook both their hands, giving them a grin that threatened to blind anyone in a three-mile radius.

Jareth shuddered delicately, looking at Randy as though he was something that had just crawled out of the Bog and started calling him 'mummy'.

"Totally extremely what?" He whispered to Sarah, askance.

She giggled at his expression, then smiled politely as Randy began giving them a talk on general safety. He showed them the equipment they would be using, which, to Sarah's relief, all looked extremely new and generally safe. Jareth merely flinched every time Randy used a word such as 'extreme', 'totally', 'radical' or 'gnarly', which was often, but gave no other indication he was really listening.

"Alright, if that's all clear, then we'll be off!" Randy beamed. "Come on, dudes!"

Sarah had to guide Jareth gently by the arm. "Why?" He asked her quietly. "Why must he talk like that? What are 'dudes'? Who is this man and what does he want with us?"

Sarah laughed, her tension easing somewhat as they clambered into a golf buggy with the words 'extreme adrenaline' painted on the sides. Then they began driving past rock climbing walls and abseiling courses, and she felt bile rise in her throat.

Randy continued talking the whole time, telling them about the history of the park and 'extremeness'. Jareth had his eyes closed, a pained expression on his face.

"I am going to do away with the entire Labyrinth, and make my runners talk to an American for thirteen hours." He informed Sarah through clenched teeth.

"Very fearsome. I wouldn't have lasted a second." She informed him sarcastically through her own clenched teeth.

"Sarah, I can _feel _his exclamation marks. At the end of every sentence. Every _word_, even." He looked at her desperately, eyes wide as he tried to make her understand.

Sarah laughed, then moaned as they passed a high ropes course. She put her head in her hands, resting her elbows on her knees.

"Are you alright, precious thing?" Jareth placed a hand on her shoulder, face suddenly full of concern. "I_ can _shut him up, if he's bothering you that much."

"It's not that, you git." She hissed, taking a deep breath.

"Tell me." He urged gently, voice low and smooth.

"It's nothing. Really." She took another deep breath, sitting up slowly. Randy was still chattering happily away, oblivious to their mild drama.

Jareth still looked concerned, but he backed of a little. He did, however, leave his hand resting on her shoulder, and Sarah found its' warmth and weight strangely comforting. She focused on it, closing her eyes and ignoring everything around her, keeping all her attention solely on the warmth of his palm through her cotton T-shirt. It relieved her tension a little until the buggy pulled to a stop, and Randy was over-enthusiasming them into a chairlift.

"This takes us up most of the way!" He informed them cheerily as he pulled the bar down over their heads. "Then there's a ladder, but it's only a few feet high. Ok? Great!"

Sarah breathed in sharply as the lift began to move, taking them up to the edge of some artificial cliffs. She clenched the edge of the seat, trying to remember how to breathe. _Don't look down, don't look down_...

"Great view, isn't it?" Randy exclaimed cheerily. "We're hardly up at all, and you can already see for miles!"

Then Sarah made the mistake of peeking. Realistically, the view was pretty terrible, but they were quite high. Her heart started beating wildly in her chest, her palms grew sweaty, and her breath came in short, sputtering gasps. The world span and her brain was pounding against her skull.

"Sarah?" Jareth's arm was around her shoulders, and he was pulling her close. "What's wrong, precious thing?"

She buried her head in his chest, breathing deeply and trying to calm herself. She could smell his scent, spicy and foreign and delicious, and feel his heart beating against her cheek. He was humming to her, a gentle melody that soothed her erratic heart, and his hand was stroking her hair.

"Not good with heights, huh?" Randy nodded wisely, grin threatening to split his head in two.

Jareth gave him a withering look, then turned his attention back to Sarah. "We're almost there, precious thing. Everything will be alright."

She nodded, not daring to look out from the folds of his shirt. She focused on the sound of his voice, the rhythm of his breathing, the heat of his skin.

_You're not even at the top yet_, she reminded herself. _No use going to pieces now. You still have to jump off the bloody thing._

She jumped as the chairlift shuddered to a halt, pulling herself reluctantly away from Jareth take a look. They were on the top of the artificial cliff, the sides of which were dotted with silver loops for rock climbing and abseiling. A few metres in front of them was a ladder leading up to a metal platform, from which protruded a reassuringly sturdy-looking bridge which linked up to an identical-looking metal platform on top of another identical-looking artificial cliff. Randy was already bouncing over to the ladder and pulling out a container of harnesses.

_Just remember to breathe_.


	13. Nerves

Once again, very little actually happens. Plot advancement next chapter, I promise! Though there are, of course, giggles to be had, and Jareth being awesome. As per usual.

Again, I've never been bungee-jumping, I don't know how to spell carabeena, and i didn't have internet to check it, so hopefully you can forgive me for my lack of knowledge extreme-ness wise.

I do not own the Labyrinth or any related wotsits. I am considering investing in an Oubliette of Really Pointy Things. It sounds like a lot of fun ;)

Reviews are my happy!

* * *

Chapter Thirteen

Jareth kept his arm around Sarah's shoulders until they were at the base of the ladder, where he assumed an expression of extreme distaste while Randy helped them both into their harnesses and reminded them how to use the carabeenas. Jareth scowled as the chirpy blonde pulled Sarah's straps tight, fighting hard to resist the urge to Bog him on the spot. He also changed his harness from a gaudy red to a regal silver as soon as Randy's back was turned.

"Alright! I'll go up first, and you two can follow after me! I'll be up there to give you a hand if you need me, ok?" Randy started the climb with lightning swiftness, transferring the carabeena attached to his harness between the loops that occurred every four rungs.

Jareth moved closer to Sarah with the pretence of double-checking her harness. He used the loop at the front to pull their bodies together, leaning forward to murmur in her ear. His breath tickled her throat and sent electrical chills running down her spine.

"Nothing is going to happen to you." He purred. "You are completely safe as long as I am here, understand me? I would never let anything happen to you."

She nodded weakly, leaning her head momentarily against his chest. His lips brushed her hair for the briefest of seconds, then he stood back and made a sweeping gesture to the ladder, bowing mockingly.

"After you, Milady." He smirked.

"Not yet, I'm not." She replied with a shaky bravado.

"_Yet_."

Sarah shot him a dirty look, then pulled herself onto the ladder. she advanced slowly, clinging desperately to the metal frame. Jareth patted her backside as she rose above him, and she whipped her head around to glare at him.

"You're doing wonderfully." He grinned wolfishly up at her.

Sarah secretly thanked him, focusing on her anger rather than the thought of falling and dying horribly.

_Fluffy git, fluffy git, fluffy git_...

Before she knew it, Randy's tanned arm was reaching down to pull her up, and she was crouching on the platform, drawing deep, shuddering breaths.

_There. Piece of cake_.

"Hey, that was swell!" Randy grinned at her. "You did really great, Sally!"

"Sarah." She corrected.

"Sure." Randy peered over the edge. "How you doin' down there, Jack?"

Sarah thought she heard something that sounded like an insult, then Jareth was climbing over the edge of the platform with all his usual grace and elegance.

"Boy, you sure are a fast climber!" Randy clapped him on the back, making Jareth stiffen. "Are you sure you followed all the safety precautions?"

Jareth gave him a withering look, then bent down to help Sarah to her feet.

"I am going to have to come up with something even more horrendous than the Bog of Eternal Stench for him." Jareth whispered to her. "Something really _nasty_. I'm thinking some kind of Pit. Or maybe the Oubliette of Really Pointy Things."

"Original." Sarah clung to his arm, not trusting her own legs. She stared pointedly at the floor, not brave enough to risk a peek at the view.

"Come on, kids!" Randy called to them. "You can get those harnesses off now! We're just about there!"

Jareth shuddered delicately, waiting for the instructor to turn before making his and Sarah's harnesses fall to the ground with a subtle wave of his fingers. He stepped out of his with his nose in the air, a regal look on his features.

Sarah was somewhat less elegant, but Jareth didn't seem to mind.

He slipped his hand over hers, squeezing tightly. She clung to him as though he were her only lifeline, taking shaky steps towards the bridge. She looked up into his face, his elegant profile lit by the sun in such a way as to almost dazzle her with his beauty. Then her stomach faltered as she realised he looked... _nervous_. What did the Goblin King have to be nervous about? Was it something she should be nervous about as well? What was going on?

Sarah's breath became ragged, her palms sweaty. Jareth shot her a reassuring smile, squeezing her hand. He seemed confident, with maybe an edge on anticipation, but nervous? No. She'd been imagining things. A trick of the light. But there it was again; as he'd turned his head, the unmistakable signs of nervousness had clearly been there on his face.

Sarah took a deep breath as she shuffled across the bridge. It was nothing, nothing to worry about. He was probably just a little nervous about how high they were.

_He can turn into an owl, you twat. I_ don't _think he's afraid of heights, _her inner voice reminded her (rather unhelpfully, she thought).

So what was it? What on earth did _Jareth_ have to be nervous about?


	14. Memories

This chapter's quite short, really... And we are so very near to our happy ending! After this chapter, there's one more, then a nice little epilogue to round everything off. Thanks for sticking with me on this one, I'm so glad you've all been enjoying it!

I do not own labyrinth, Sarah, or Jareth. Regrettably, I do own Randy. I shall be sending him to the Oubliette of Really Pointy Things very shortly (the Oubliette now contains those weird fetus-on-a-stick things, courtesy of the imagination of Rioki Moondove, who makes me giggle).

You only have a limited time left in which to send me reviews! (well, not really, but you know how much I love them ^.^)

* * *

Chapter Fourteen

The view from the bridge was actually fairly impressive. Green fields rolled out for miles in one direction, buildings in the other. The ocean glittered in the distance like a handful of sapphires flung to earth by some careless god.

Jareth noted the beauty of the surrounds with a muted interest, the way one notices strange people on a crowded street when running late.

If this didn't go according to plan, what then? He had given her triggers in the Labyrinth, and now he was in the human world, where his powers were muted, because that was where it had all happened to begin with. This was as close as he could possibly get without expending every single ounce of his magic, and there was every likelihood that such a feat would kill him. What was the point of Sarah remembering if he wasn't around to see it?

...

She was on the edge of the abyss and oh god it was so high and she had to jump, she had to, she didn't have a choice because if she didn't he was going to kill her and-

Who was going to kill her? The man's face that had suddenly flashed before her eyes hadn't been Jareths'; it was dark and handsome, but twisted with a black cruelty that made Sarah shiver. She tried to recall it, but it was like trying to hold water in her fingers.

Sarah glanced back over her shoulder at Jareth. His expression was dark, anticipating, and his arms were folded. He looked inexplicably tense, almost as though there was a gun pressed to his temple. Sarah swallowed, turning back to face the open air.

She stepped to the edge of the bridge, legs together and rigged up to jump. This was it. No turning back now. She had no choice. The toes of her shoes edged ever so carefully forward, until the tips were standing on nothingness. She had to jump.

Suddenly the face was back, obscuring her entire vision. The man's eyes were dark with a pure hatred, spittle flying from his teeth. She could feel breeze on her back, satin on her skin, bruises on her flesh. There was pain and fear and anger, and there was beauty, safety, a release. There was a decision.

Other memories, the ones from her waking dreams, began to flood her mind. There was the ballroom, harsh and bawdy; the hedge-maze, clipped and twisting; faces, both ugly and old and young and achingly beautiful. Then there were other images, of flesh on flesh, lips on skin, gasps and moans and screams, sometimes wonderful and sometimes oppressive and unwanted.

Sarah gasped, overwhelmed by memories that weren't hers, couldn't be hers, but they _were_, she knew it, they _had_ to be.

"Ready to jump, Samantha?" Randy chirped, breaking through the memories and pulling Sarah back.

"Ok." She managed to speak without her voice breaking.

"On the count of three!" He said cheerfully. "One... Two..."

Sarah raised her arms to shoulder height, drawing a deep, shaky breath. She closed her eyes, edging forwards._ This is it_...

"_Three!_"

Then she was jumping and oh god she was falling, she was falling from the tower, her prison tower, she was falling and there was nothing she could do and she was going to die but it was the only way, the only way she could escape him, and oh god she was _remembering_, she could remember it all, she could remember Jareth and Tobias and Caleb and everything, it was all coming back to her but she was still falling, she was still falling and she had jumped _again_ but who was going to save her this time?


	15. A Happy Ending

Final chapter! Yay!/Boohoo! Then an epilogue tomorrow, and it's all gone... Weep, if it helps. This chapters a bit sappy, as all good happy endings are. I am planning an extra epilogue to deal with Randy, because the general opinion amongst all my fabby reviewers is that He Needs to Suffer. So I'll get that done and uploaded to you at some point. Should be messy ;)

I own nothing, etc. The song he sings to her is 'Wild is the Wind' by a certain Mr. Bowie.

Almost-last chance to review! (well, not really, but it feels like that. Kind of. Just do it!)

* * *

Chapter Fifteen

With a wave of his hand, Jareth was falling beside Sarah, then he wrapped his arms around her and they disappeared, leaving a very confused Randy back on the bridge.

They reappeared a blink of an eyelid later in Sarah's apartment. She gasped as though drowning, tears running unnoticed down her cheeks. Her knees gave way beneath her, and Jareth had to cling to her tightly to stop her from falling.

"The memories... they're all real. They're all mine." Sarah shook her head, clamping her eyes shut. "It really happened. I was a princess, and we danced, and he was so _evil_, and they both were, and we..."

She sobbed, burying her face in Jareth's chest. He had changed back into his Fae form, and the fabric she could feel against her skin was a soft grey silk. He held her to his chest without a word, rocking her gently as she adapted to the new memories, the realisations and new truths.

After several long minutes, she looked up at him, eyes wide, and whispered, "I'm so sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for, precious thing." He smiled softly at her, an expression of such fierce and grateful devotion in his eyes that it melted her heart and made her knees shake.

"I put you through so much! You lost your kingdom, your family... And I was such a total brat." She shook her head, disgusted with herself. "It must have been so _hard_ for you, and I was completely oblivious. I am so _so_ sorry..."

"My kingdom and my family were no big loss, as I'm sure you are aware." He replied drily, then smiled sadly. "And every minute of pain, all those centuries of waiting, were worth it just to hold you now."

Sarah sniffled, and fresh tears began to flow.

"Sorry. I'm normally alright with this sort of thing..." She mumbled, burying her face in his chest again.

"You've never _done_ this sort of thing, precious." He pointed out with a gentle amusement. "I'm not entirely sure _anyone_ has."

"Right. I might need to have a bit of a cry then."

Jareth laughed softly, pulling her close and stroking her hair as she sobbed against his chest. He began to sing softly to her, voice a gentle melody of silk and honey.

_Love me love me love me love me _

_Say you do_

_Let me fly away with you_

_For my love is like the wind_

_And wild is the wind_

_Wild is the wind_

_Give me more than one caress _

_Satisfy this hungriness_

_Let the wind flow through your heart_

_For wild is the wind_

_Wild is the wind_

He rocked her gently against his chest, brushing the top of her head with his lips. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as a single tear ran down his own cheek.

_You kiss me_

_With your kiss my life begins_

_You scream to me_

_All things to me_

_Don't you know you're life itself?_

_Like the leaf clings to the tree_

_Oh my darling_

_Cling to me_

Then his song was suddenly interrupted as Sarah flung her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his with an animalistic ferocity. He responded with equal -if not stronger- enthusiasm, parting her lips with his tongue. They stood fused together for an age, trying to recover all the time they had missed with one embrace.

Finally they broke apart, both gasping for air. Jareth traced Sarah's jaw with his mouth, burying his face in her neck.

"What happened to him?" Sarah asked, trying to ignore the wonderful things Jareth was going with his tongue.

"Hm?"

"Caleb. Your brother. What happened to him?"

Jareth drew back, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "When Mother and Father died, he of course ascended the throne. He was king for barely two centuries before he drove the Fae kingdom into the ground. There's little left now but black earth and burnt trees.

"He was too evil to rule a world so beautiful. That's why there is so little magic in this world now; most worlds have some sort of connection, and the destruction of the Fae world led to the sapping of this one."

"Were you sad?" Sarah asked, eyes searching his face. "I mean, doesn't that make you the last of your race?"

"Sarah, I left the Fae world, remember? There were far better things for me in this one." He smiled at her, bending down to murmur into her ear. "Besides, I'm sure we can find a way to repopulate."

"Well... Well, that's good then." Sarah grinned, then she kissed him again and there was nothing in this or any other world that could have torn them apart.


	16. Epilogue: An Almost Revolution

Epilogue! Le gasp!

This is not the one in which Randy suffers, this is the one in which I go a bit silly and tragically reveal my family history of Communism. Jareth uses logic that, in essence, is completely flawed, and yet is somehow so very hard to argue with... Randy's suffering should surface some time in the next few days. I don't think you'll get it tomorrow, as I apparently have a job interview in the afternoon, and after Orientation at University the past two days, I shall be spending as much of the morning as possible asleep. But it shall be soon, and the suffering shall be slow and painful! Mwahahaha! (I am accepting suggestions, so please, lend me your sadism).

Thankyou very much for all the wonderful reviews. I've been muchly chuffed with all the positive feedback. You've boosted my ego, and made me giggle. A lot. Which is wonderful. As someone who wants to be an author, it means a lot to know that people think I can actually write a half-way decent story. I promise that when I'm outselling Harry Potter, I shan't forget all you little people. -.-

It's been a long and arduous journey, filled with drama, pants and creepy incest things, and I'm beginning to sound a bit wanky and disturbing, so I won't continue this paragraph. Please ignore.

I don't own Jareth (I know, I'm crying too), Sarah, the Labyrinth or a throne. I do own several hats, though none of them are as smashing as Hig's. While I have borrowed the term 'adult-type touching' from the fabulously amazing Lixxle (go hither to her page if you are yet to behold her awesome), the bit with the throne was written before Christmas, in a time when I did not have internet. Any similarity to her throne gag is purely coincidental, and possibly slightly disturbing. Either that or we just both have a very good understanding of how Jareth thinks... Which, yes, is disturbing.

* * *

Epilogue

Jareth and Sarah sat together on the throne, watching the general rabble (her many attempts to convince Jareth she needed a throne of her own had thus far proved futile. He cited reasons such as it being more economical, taking up less space, and then generally just mumbled something about goblins and began kissing her. While Sarah didn't mind that part too much at all, she had a feeling the real reason he didn't want another throne was because he liked it when she sat on his lap).

Sarah was attempting to convince Jareth that Bogging a goblin who had accidentally set her dress on fire was completely unnecessary, and Jareth was trying to convince her that it would make her feel a whole lot better (his reasoning mainly consisted of kissing her throat and saying 'please?' while employing puppy-dog eyes).

"It's nothing, really. It's barely even scorched." She pleaded. "There's really no need. Look at the poor thing, he didn't mean it!"

The 'poor thing' was currently chasing a chicken, a box of matches waving madly in his fist.

"Sarah, the goblins _need_ discipline. They're like puppies." He paused. "But smellier."

"Exactly. They smell enough already, they don't need_ more _bogging." She pouted at him, eyes wide. "Besides, would you Bog a puppy?"

"Sarah, darling, that isn't the point." He crossed his arms. "Remember that goldfish you had? You never fed it, its' tank was filthy, and it lived for years. Goblins are like that fish; they thrive on neglect."

"_Neglect_, not... _abuse_." Sarah paused. "Also, the fact that you know about that is incredibly creepy. You've been talking to Meg again, haven't you?"

Jareth waved his hand dismissively. "Tuh-mah-toe, tuh-may-toe. The point is, he must be punished for his insubordination. Trust me, precious thing; it's a thoroughly enjoyable experience."

"I know another thoroughly enjoyable experience." Sarah fluttered her eyelashes at him, running a finger down his chest and stomach to the waistband of his trousers.

"Sarah..." Jareth swallowed and closed his eyes, tilting his head backwards. "You are manipulating me."

"Mhm." She kissed his jaw, running her lips along until she found his earlobe.

"I like it."

"Mm..." She bit his earlobe gently, tugging on it with her teeth and making him moan.

"I am going to have to punish you for insubordination."

"Yes, please."

Just as he was about to glitter them away to his bedchamber for all number of unspeakable acts, they were interrupted by a loud banging as the throne room doors imploded inwards. Hig rode in one the back of some strange Labyrinth creature, surrounded by slightly nervous looking goblins and some very savage looking chickens. Atop Hig's head sat what appeared to be a crown, constructed from a lampshade, several Christmas decorations and a novelty tie.

"Hig, what on _earth_ is going on?" Jareth asked, looking highly irritated.

"Your Majesty, we -that is to say, I- have decided you are no longer fit to rule." Hig cried, crown jiggling. "For your crimes against chickens, goblins and official headwear, you shall suffer!"

"Awfully articulate, isn't he?" Sarah commented drily.

"I see you have a new hat." Jareth noted.

"It's not a hat, it's a _crown_!" Hig yelled, face turning blue with anger. "And you are no longer ruler of the Underground!"

He jumped from the back of his steed, running up to Jareth and brandishing a wooden spear at him. Jareth bent down and took his crown, holding it out of reach. The dwarf goblin jumped for it angrily, and Jareth kept him at bay by stretching out a leg and pushing his boot casually against Hig's forehead.

"This is why we must punish the goblins, precious thing." Jareth told Sarah, in the same manner one uses to explain difficult concepts to a small child. "Before I learnt that, every weekend brought some fresh revolution. It was practically a sport."

"Unhand me, fascist!" Hig squealed, still jumping for his crown.

"Fascist?" Jareth laughed. "My my, you do know some big words, don't you? This is what happens when you educate your subjects. From now on, anything showing the slightest form of intelligence shall be Bogged."

There was a general cheer from the throne room. The invading army began to mingle with the other goblins, and several tankards of ale were passed around. Some of the chickens still looked a little violent, but most of them were hurriedly sat on.

"Can I Bog this one?" Jareth asked Sarah pleadingly.

"I'd really rather you didn't." Sarah sighed.

"Can I Bog his hat?" He asked hopefully.

"Oh, very well."

"Nnnnoooo!" Hig squealed as the crown disappeared. He collapsed to the ground, tears running down his cheeks.

"There, there." Sarah said comfortingly. "I'll get you a new one, I promise."

"Sarah!" Jareth cried, pretending shock. "Need I remind you this goblin has just led a revolution against us? Albeit a very short and unsuccessful one."

"He's obviously creatively frustrated, Jareth. That hat was very imaginative." She nodded sagely.

"Please tell me you're joking." He raised an incredulous eyebrow.

Sarah nodded again, a smirk threatening to mark her placid expression.

"Obviously the pressure of the memories of two different lifetimes has addled your wits." Jareth shook his head sadly. "Fortunately, there is a cure."

Sarah raised an eyebrow. "I'll bet."

"Don't you want to hear it? You must be desperate to return to normal." He replied sincerely.

"Let me guess: liberal amounts of adult-type touching, taken three times a day?"

"At least." He nodded wisely.

"That sounds very drastic, Doctor."

"Alas, yes, but necessary." He grinned wolfishly.

"Shall we begin, then?" She murmured huskily, smirking at him.

"But of course."

Jareth waved his hand, and Hig disappeared with a loud wail.

"Jareth, you'd better not just do what I think you just did..." Sarah said warningly.

"Oh, my. How clumsy of me." He smiled apologetically. "If you wish to punish me, I shall understand."

Sarah shook her head, smiling exasperatedly. Then she pressed her lips to his, and with a wave of his hand, they were gone.


	17. Epilogue Two: No more American

WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS VIOLENCE. GRAPHIC, SLOW, TORTUROUS VIOLENCE. RATED M. DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH OR ARE IN ANY WAY SENSITIVE TO HUMAN SUFFERING.

Alright, now that that is out of the way... There was an enormous amount of hatred towards Randy the extreme instructor dude, and thus I promised I would write an extra epilogue just to deal with him. During the process of writing this epilogue, I got a tad carried away, and ended up making it incredibly graphic. It's twisted, it really is. I probably need therapy. I know you hated him, but did he really deserve to suffer so? You decide... And let me just warn you, I'm not joking here. This isn't like, 'aah, singing goblins, halp halp', this is like, 'aah, I'm dying slowly and horribly and in a lot of pain'. Jareth _really_ doesn't like Randy, apparently. Plus, years of being alone and bitter have made him incredibly twisted.

Or is that just me?

This chapter also contains several goblins who aren't Hig. Thus, several goblins without Hig's intelligence. Thus, normal goblins.

I apologise if this offends any Americans. It's truly not (entirely) intentional. Some of my favourite famous people are American. Amanda Palmer is American, and I would happily have her children. Johnny Depp is American, and..................................... Sorry, thinking about Johnny Depp and David Bowie and tight pants all at once causes my brain to die. Anyway, the point is, I do not mean to offend you if you are American. Randy is just one of the worst American cliches, and thus brings out wrath.

I hope you enjoy this. Let it never be said I don't give the people what they want (remember that when I'm taking over the world).

I do not own Labyrinth, goblins, Jareth, an annoying American person or the Beastie Boys. I do own the Oubliette of Really Pointy Things. The idea for putting the fetus things in the Oubliette comes from Rioku Moondove (hope I got that right), who is awesome.

If all you put in a review is a diatribe about how messed up I am, I will understand. Thankyou.

* * *

Epilogue 2.0

Randy sat at his desk, filling out paperwork. The Beastie Boys blared from a radio in the corner, and he tapped his foot in time to the music, humming softly to himself.

Suddenly the room went dark, the song cutting out with a screech. Randy looked up, blinking amiably. There was a flash, and a figure was silhouetted in the corner of the cramped office; tall, thin, a halo of hair, an upright, regal bearing.

"Hello, Randy." The voice was low, seductive, velvet dripping over a razor's edge.

"H-howdy." Randy ventured cautiously, peering through the darkness.

The figure stepped forward, standing in front of the desk with folded arms. The room was lit suddenly with a shuddering light, like a candle in the wind, and the figure was illuminated.

"Well, Howdy! James, wasn't it?" Randy beamed, standing and offering his hand.

Jareth smirked, a dangerous expression that caused Randy's smile to falter. "Not quite."

"Well, what can I do you for?"

"I have a job for you, Randy." Jareth's tone remained calm, his smirk sinister.

"Gnarly! What kind of job?" He grinned excitedly, teeth flashing in the stuttering light.

Jareth's only response was to smirk all the wider. He held out a crystal, offering it to the American, who stared eagerly into its' depths.

"You are to teach bungee jumping to some subjects of mine."

"Whoa... it's like..."

"It's called an oubliette." Jareth explained coolly. "It comes from the French word for 'forgetting'."

"Extreme..." Randy reached out to touch the crystal's surface.

As soon as his fingers made contact, he disappeared. Jareth held the crystal up, looking into it with a satisfied smile. Then he, too, disappeared, leaving behind nothing but glitter and a rumble of laughter, deep and joyous and chilling to the bone.

...

Randy found himself sitting on the edge of a round hole, ankles tied together. There was a rope leading from his ankles to a sturdy-looking pole, which arched over the top of the hole. Looking around, he found himself to be in a low, dark chamber. Large eyes peered a him from the shadows, and snickers rebounded erratically throughout the room.

"Howdy there!" Randy called cheerily, waving.

Several creatures, squat and dirty and ugly, inched forward from the shadows. They steered suspiciously at him, large eyes narrowing.

"Well, aren't you funny-looking dudes?" Randy beckoned for them to come closer.

"Careful." One of them warned. "King says he's dangerous."

"_Very_ dangerous." Another nodded.

"King says he's _American_." One of them informed the others in a squeaky stage-whisper. There was a horrified gasp from around the room.

"Don't worry, little dudes! I won't hurt you!" Randy assured them cheerily.

"Creepy." A goblin nodded sagely.

"King says we have to push him into the ooby... the obbly..." A brown goblin with a large boil on his chin stammered. "The big hole in the ground."

"Hey now, there's no need for that!" Randy grinned at them, pearly teeth flashing.

"Aah!" One goblin screamed.

"My eyes!" Yelled another, covering his face and running into a wall.

"Blind!" Shrieked one, sobbing fitfully.

"Make it stop!" Yelled the brown goblin, running at Randy and shoving him into the hole.

"Much better." A goblin said happily.

"All gone." Agreed another.

"Still blind!" Wailed the crying goblin.

"Open your eyes, Gurt." A goblin with a sock oh his nose sighed.

"Oh." Gurt opened one eye, then the other. Finding the room free of smiling Americans, he smiled happily and began picking at a piece of bellybutton lint. "No more American." He mumbled cheerily.

...

_Whoa, this is extreme_, Randy thought as he fell down the hole. _I'm totally bungee jumping underground!_

Then he noticed something glinting on the ground that was rapidly rushing up to greet him. Several Things, in fact. Things that, even from this distance, looked Really Pointy.

_I totally hope this rope is like, long enough_, Randy thought absently to himself. _But who cares?! This is totally EXTREEEEME!_

The rope wasn't long enough. Randy screamed as the Really Pointy Things sliced into his arms and face, hooking into his flesh and tearing it away in long strips. Things -like foetuses on sticks, but with teeth like daggers- bit at him, rending the meat straight from the bone. Several of the Really Pointy Things were rusted with salt, and the salt and the rust were left in the wounds as the rope snapped taut, bringing Randy out of the Oubliette and sending him back up again.

He came up far enough to see goblin eyes staring gleefully down at him, before he was again catapulted into the dark. Twice more he plummeted into the abyss, each time shrieking as fresh pains lacerated his very being.

"Screams like girl." One of the goblins observed.

"Screams like Queen." Another nodded.

"Girly American." A third concurred.

"Pretty girl." Another noted sadly.

"Not any more." The brown one replied happily.

"No." The other agreed. "Not any more."

Randy was on the way down again when suddenly, there was a _crack_. The pole to which the rope was attached was snapping under the strain. He shrieked, a metal spike embedding itself all the way through his arm and out the other side. He was tugged upwards again by the rope's elasticity, then plummeted downwards again. This time, as the rope pulled taut, the pole snapped. There was a loud thud, then a scream, long and drawn-out, disquietingly piercing, then silence.

Randy did not resurface.

The goblins stared nervously into the hole, shuffling their feet and glancing surreptitiously at each other.

"American gone." One of them noted.

"Painful." Another winced.

"Maybe he fell on a chicken." On of them offered hopefully.

The others shook their heads, and the little goblin bowed his respectfully.

"What shall we tell King?" One of them asked suddenly, voice panicked.

"It was a chicken!"

"One of the foetuses ate him!"

"The truth!"

The others stared at the last goblin to speak.

":Stick broke. Stick bad. Stick's fault." He argued reasonably.

The others nodded wisely amongst themselves, stroking their chins thoughtfully in poor imitation of their King.

There was a sudden crackle and a shower of glitter, and Jareth himself appeared before them, clad head-to-toe in glittering, black armour. He looked slightly ruffled, inordinately pleased, and there was what appeared to be a smudge of lipstick on his cheek, but he was still imposing, regal and fearsome.

"I thought I'd better check on our little guest." He smirked, then narrowed his eyes. "I don't hear any screaming."

The goblins shuffled their feet nervously, eyes cast downwards.

"Well?" Jareth asked, voice pleasantly deadly.

"American gone." One mumbled.

"What do you mean, 'gone'?" Jareth enquired suspiciously.

"Stick broke." The brown goblin mumbled.

"Stick _bad_." Said the goblin with the sock on his nose.

"Stick's fault!" Another goblin assured him.

Jareth was still for a moment, then he strode forward and peered over the edge of the hole. He winced, turning away and shaking his head.

"Well, ah..." Jareth stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Tell you what, chaps. If you promise not to tell Sarah about this, I'll... Give you all a free chicken."

The goblins cheered.

"But... what happens if we _do_ tell her?" A goblin asked nervously.

Jareth merely smirked and pointed to the hole. The goblins peered into it at the remains of the instructor.

"Telling _bad_." A goblin shuddered.

Jareth nodded slowly.

"No telling Queen." The goblins told each other, making sure the message was heard.

"_Not_ telling _good_." The brown goblin reminded them, patting a black chicken feather on his belt. The other goblins nodded.

"Well, chaps, now that we've got that sorted, I have a naked queen to get back to." Jareth's eyes momentarily glazed over, a joyous smile on his face. Then he waved his hand, and he was gone.

"King bad." A goblin whispered.

"King _strange_." The goblin with the sock on his nose stuck out his tongue. "Likes naked Queen!"

The other goblins nodded.

"Queen _sexy_." Informed a smaller goblin. "King says so."

The other goblins fell into a debate over the meaning of the word 'sexy'.

"King sexy." Said a goblin dreamily.

This was discussed heatedly, before the topic went hideously off track and became something to do with chicken foetuses on a stick.

At the bottom of the Oubliette of Really Pointy Things, Randy twitched one last time. As the final breath left his body, he thought one thing:

_At least my death was extreeeeeeeme_...


End file.
